


The Narnia Effect

by orphan_account



Category: Formula 1 RPF, Rush (2013)
Genre: Comedy I guess, F/M, M/M, Time Travel! AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 11:36:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1265041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When James Hunt is presented with the opportunity to travel back to the Golden '76 season of F1, he eagerly snatches it, holding on to his ambition to prevent the fiery crash which left his idol, Niki Lauda, permanently disfigured.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> OH GOD A TIME TRAVEL FIC
> 
> I have to warn you, I SUCK at science, so I literally made stuff up for the time machine because I have no idea what I'm talking about and didn't want to even try to do science things. 
> 
> Also, I did have to fiddle with irl events a little just to fit the story, I hope you don't mind. Then again, it's not like Launt happened irl. Or time travel. As far as I know.

_ Prologue _

                James knew that Peter had become slightly eccentric after leaving university, but he had no idea that it would be _this_ bad. Standing aimlessly in the middle of his brother’s basement, surrounded by strange machines that occasionally lit up and made _beep boop_ noises, he felt markedly unsafe. “Pete, when you said time travel on the phone, I thought you were joking.”  
“When have you ever known me to tell a joke?” Peter quipped, his voice muffled due to the fact that he was currently searching around inside a cupboard. “Ah! I’ve got it. Now, James. This is the Shepherd.” He proudly held up a small ovular device, which had one yellow button in the middle.  
“Shepherd? Is that, like, the name of a particle or some Hawking theory?”  
“No, the dog breed.”  
“You named your magnum opus after a dog?” James quirked an eyebrow, preparing to make an excuse to make a hasty getaway from his apparently now _batshit insane_ brother.  
“I was never very good at making up words. Anyway, this little beauty will be able to send you backwards in time, and to bring you back again when you’re bored of being in the past.”  
“Right. That tiny button does all of that?”  
“Oh, no! No. It’s just a counterpart to the Pug,” He ushered James over to a much larger machine, complete with about six monitors and a keyboard which was about three times the size of any James had ever seen. “Now, the Pug helps you decide where you’re going, and gives you a head start. Then, once you’ve finished that, you press the button on the Shepherd and off you go!” Peter was getting visibly excited, fumbling with the machine before him.  
“No offence, Pete, but I’m not sure how I feel about you putting me in some weird time machine. How do you know if it even works?”  
“Well, I’ve used it.”  
“Really? Where did you go?”  
“Back to last week.”  
James deadpanned. “Why on earth would you use a time machine to go back to last week?”  
“To prove to you that it happened. Did you lose something important last Tuesday?”  
“Yes... my ID.” James remembered flying into a rage and kicking the dresser so hard that he could have swore that he’d broken all of his toes. Peter reached into his back pocket, and surely enough, he pulled out James’ missing ID.  
“Now, where was present Peter Hunt last week?”  
“At a conference in Manchester. You left on Monday and came back on Thursday night. Peter... are you being serious about this?” James looked directly into his brother’s eyes, desperately trying to search for some kind of inclination that Peter was joking. He found none.  
“Yes, I am. And I need someone to properly test the effects. I know it works, and I know it’s safe. Now that I know that the machine works on the same timeline, and that there are no weird alternate universes... we could change history. Obviously not _big_ things, like, unfortunately we wouldn’t be able to stop either or the World Wars from happening because of the impact it had on modern society... but smaller things, yes, yes.” Peter was rambling, and normally James would try to snap him out of it, but this time he couldn’t, for he was having a few crazy ideas of his own.  
“Niki Lauda,” He mumbled under his breath, thinking out loud.  
“What?”  
James looked directly up at his brother, determination set in his face. “Niki Lauda, Pete.” For as long as he could remember, James had _idolised_ Lauda. The four time World Champion, whose bravery and courage had brought him back from the grave. _And whose dashing good looks had made James ever so slightly bisexual, but let’s not touch on that right now._ “I could go back. If I get close to him, or even just get close to the drivers... I could stop the accident from happening.” Ah, yes. The Nurburgring. The death-track upon which Lauda had crashed in 1976, receiving severe burns to his face and almost dying from the damage dealt to his lungs. He hadn’t returned to the racetrack that year, only winning because his lead over the rest of the field was so staggering that no driver was able to catch up to him. And, while Lauda continued driving in 1977, and went on to win two more championships, James was convinced that he was never the same after the accident, and probably would have won the most titles in history if he had never crashed. He probably would have beaten Schumacher.  
“That doesn’t sound too taxing, I suppose. It’s not like Lauda’s accident affected anyone but himself... yes. Yes, that sounds good to me. Right,” Peter began to erratically type on the Pug’s keyboard, “Now, let’s go back to 1970. That’s a year before Lauda bought into March, so you’ll have plenty of time to get in with the community. Listen to me carefully, James. Take this watch with you,” Peter fished a large silver watch from his pocket, and fastened it to his brother’s wrist, “You will arrive outside a block of flats in London, and at 2:30PM will be due for a flat viewing, which you will accept. Empty your wallet of credit cards, debit cards and identification. When you arrive in 1970, you’ll find it filled with a new and authentic birth certificate, £10,000 in cash, and a new ID. You’ll have to apply for your own credit cards, but you have everything you need to start one up.”  
“How the fuck did you do that?!”  
“It’s all in the science,” Peter said mysteriously, flicking his nose, “At 8:30AM the following morning, you’ll meet with a man named Alexander Hesketh, for an interview regarding a drive. I know you’ve raced before, but competitive racing cars are different to Minis, James. Don’t be so aggressive or you’ll end up killing yourself. Obviously, don’t tell anyone you’re from the future. Don’t change any major events, like save driver’s lives when they were meant to die. I know that it’ll be difficult not to, but it has to be done. Saving a life is different to preventing an injury – the consequences are far greater. You could risk throwing off the balance of time, or open a black hole. Or something like that. Truth be told, I don’t know. I just know that it’s not something to be messed with. Also, it is absolutely imperative that you come back before you’re born in the present.”  
“Why’s that? You managed to be in the same time as the past you, why wouldn’t I be able to?”  
“Because I was already alive in the past. It’s different. If you aren’t back in your own time before our Mum gives birth to you, then the baby being born will replace you. Your body will expire, and you’ll die. I don’t know why, James. My theory is that it’s a _past life_ sort of thing. Be back before the 15th of June, 1993. You will return exactly as you are now, and you won’t have aged a day, no matter how long you spent in the past. I call it the Narnia Effect.” He said this with a clear glimmer of pride on his face. James contemplated for a moment, and slowly began to remove his credit cards from his wallet.  
“Right. So, flat viewing at half past two, and then interview with Hesketh the next morning.”  
“Yes. I’ll put the details in a little note in your wallet for you, like Hesketh’s address and so forth,” Peter said, attacking the keyboard once more. “Right. We’re all set. Whenever you’re ready.”

                James gave his brother a salute, and pressed the yellow button.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After two years of indulging in the leisurely life of a motor racer, and getting used to living in the '70's, James finally meets Niki Lauda for the first time. Not only that, but he beats him on the track.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD I'M SORRY I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER so I feel like I should explain??? OKAY, I'm in the middle of applying for university at the minute so last week I had to travel nearly 1000 miles within 2 days to get to open days and while it's been an incredible experience, it completely took my mind off my writing. Also I've been working RIDICULOUS shifts at the moment thanks to April being the bane of my life due to the amount of Bank Holidays it has. However, I'm now FREE until May, when I have to start sorting my accommodation, so I can write some more! Hooray!

_ Chapter 2 _

                Girls in the ‘70’s were far easier than girls from the present (or was it future? He didn’t know anymore), James mused as he took a cigarette from the estate agent’s hand and lit it up. She was lounging on his new couch, her blouse open and her skirt hoisted up around her waist, James’ seed spilling onto her inner thighs. “I’ll take the flat, by the way,” He grinned.

                It was 1972 when James met Niki Lauda for the first time, and it was entirely different to how he expected it. James hopped out of his shiny blue Mini, courtesy of his success with Hesketh, with a lusty blonde attached to his arm, and swaggered towards the pit lanes. Mild racing fame had changed James and he knew it – suddenly he was brazen, confident, and aggressive. When he noticed a familiar head of curly hair sticking out of one of the cars, however, James almost froze. _There_ he was, serious and icy as he had been depicted in the media. He wanted to speak to Niki, but how could he? How could he simply walk up to his idol, the man he had come to this time to protect, and say ‘hello’ as if it meant nothing to him? No, James wanted to impress Niki Lauda. He wanted, above all else, to make an impression. To become his equal, instead of yet another rabid fan. Therefore, he went out of his way to secure pole position; it was probably the hardest he’d ever worked for pole in his entire career, and the adrenaline rush it gave him was simply incredible. _He, James Hunt,_ had beaten Niki Lauda to the front place on the grid. When the flag fell to begin the race, James accelerated hard and soared ahead of the rest of the field, with Lauda following close behind. However, he spent more time concentrating on Lauda’s impressive driving technique than his own, and on the second lap, as he was laughing abundantly at the fact that they were driving wheel to wheel, James made a mistake, causing his left wheels to collide with Lauda’s own, sending both drivers careering to the side of the track. For a moment, James forgot Niki, and concentrated on restarting his car. Fortunately, the Lotus grumbled back into life, and James set off again, not noticing that there was no one behind him.

                When he took the checkered flag, James was exuberant; until he found that Niki was not standing next to him on the podium. Suddenly anxious, he searched the pit lanes until he found Ronnie Peterson, with whom he had formed a deep friendship, perched on the boot of his car, with none other than Niki standing beside him, gulping down a bottle of water. Almost hesitantly, James walked towards them, trying his best to greet Ronnie with his usual charm. Thankfully, Ronnie didn’t notice that anything was amiss, and waved at James in the same way that he always did. “Hiya, Hunt. Niki, this is-“  
“James Hunt, I know.” James’ breath came out in a hiss, and he desperately hoped that nobody noticed. He’d imagined what his name would sound like on Niki’s lips _thousands_ of times, but fantasy was absolutely nothing compared to hearing the deep, clipped voice of Niki Lauda filling the air around him as he spoke. He had the kind of voice that could cut through any atmosphere, without any kind of effort. It was unnerving, in the best possible way. “Didn’t you see him send me off the track?” Niki asked Ronnie, with an oddly calm expression. In fact, he was even smiling.  
“I do apologise for that,” James said, feeling incredible embarrassed, “I wasn’t paying attention. Won’t happen again.”  
“As long as it doesn’t, Hunt. I do quite enjoy winning, and I wouldn’t like you to get in the way of that.”  
“Cocky little devil, aren’t you?” James quipped, unable to help himself.  
Niki turned to Ronnie. “Is this the right time to use the ‘pot calling the kettle black’ phrase?”  
Ronnie laughed, “Absolutely.”  
Niki faced James again, seemingly triumphant at being able to correctly use a British term. “There we are, then. The pot is calling the kettle black.”  
“It looks that way,” James smirked, trying not to stare too endearingly at Niki. “Just out of curiosity, where are you living? I’ve never seen you before, so I’m assuming you’ve just moved here.” James knew that he wasn’t exactly meant to use his knowledge of the future for his own gain, but he had suddenly remembered reading that Niki, upon first moving to England to pursue a career in motorsport, ended up couch-hopping for the first year or so of his career. It was an opportunity that was too good to miss. When Niki glanced down at his feet with a sullen expression darkening his face, however, James regretted ever saying anything.  
“Well, I actually haven’t managed to find anywhere. I was originally staying with a... a friend, but she moved back to Austria recently.” He cleared his throat.  
“I have a flat,” James blurted, far too quickly, “I mean, it’s only one bedroom, but it’s very big, and the couch is one of those pull-out beds, which is surprisingly comfortable.”  
Niki raised an eyebrow. “How would you know how comfortable the couch is? Are you one of those strange people who likes hard beds over soft ones?”  
“God, no. I just...” He chuckled nervously, “Well, sometimes I can’t get to the bedroom.”  
Thankfully, Niki grinned. It was a strangely goofy grin, which caused the skin around his eyes and nose to crease, and his teeth to protrude _even further_ from his mouth. “We’ve all had that issue. Well, if you’re offering, I accept. As long as you don’t try to join me on the couch when you _can’t make it to bed_.”  
“Aye aye, captain. Shall I give you a lift?”  
“Absolutely. You have my thanks, James Hunt. Perhaps I shall repay you when I become World Champion.”  
“What if I’m the one who becomes World Champion?”  
Niki smiled, cheekily and with an obvious good humour, “That will never happen. Not as long as I am your opponent.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James comes to terms with the ups and downs of living with Niki Lauda.

**_ Chapter 3 _ **

                Unsurprisingly, Niki was remarkably easy to live with. He was always at home, unless he was racing or practising for a race, he slept early and rose even earlier, he cooked, cleaned, and never left any hair in the sink when he shaved. It never really occurred to James that anything was wrong, until he came home to find Niki lying on the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling, smoking one of James’ cigarettes, and listening to Simon and Garfunkel’s _The Sound of Silence_ over and over again, robotically placing the needle back on the edge of the record every time the song ended. “Isn’t that my record player?” James said, causing Niki to jump. He hadn’t flicked the ash off the end of the cigarette for quite some time, so the sudden movement caused it to fall from the butt and land on his cheek. He yelled out in pain, clutching at his face, and James rushed to the sink to find their tattered dishcloth, putting it under the cold tap and tossing it to Niki when it was soaked in water. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. Seriously though, what’s wrong?”  
Niki caught the dishcloth with relative ease, and held it to his red and swollen cheek. “A little... down. I suppose that’s the word. I should have asked about borrowing your record player. And your cigarettes. I don’t usually smoke, I just... needed one.”  
James scoffed, and perched himself on the arm of the chair by Niki’s feet. “Don’t be stupid, it’s just a record player. You’re completely welcome to use it, you know. Although, this is pretty dreadful stuff, Niks.”  
“Rude! Simon and Garfunkel are great!”  
“They _were_ great, five years ago when sad music was still cool.” _Fifty years ago, really,_ James mused. Getting used to 70’s music had been pretty easy for him; it’s not like the noughties had much to offer when compared to the fact that you could buy a decent Beatles vinyl for a cheaper price than a CD in 2014. Although, sometimes he missed the Arctic Monkeys, and U2. Niki sat up, looking at James with a somewhat cocky glare in his eyes.  
“And what about this crap that you blast in all hours of the morning?” He said, inclining his head towards the _Slade Alive!_ album that James had been playing last night before bed.  
“What, Slade? Niki, you love Slade!”  
“When I am drunk, I love Slade. I’m not drunk right now.”  
“Would you like to be, my dear?” It wasn’t meant to be even mildly suggestive, but the idea of being close enough to witness Niki getting drunk, and maybe even seeking comfort from James in his vulnerable state, made James’ mind go wild. James could have swore that a flirtatious glint flashed across Niki’s eyes for a second, but it was gone before he could even register it.  
“I would very much like to be drunk, my dear. But I would also prefer to not leave the house. I’m afraid our resident alcoholic has already consumed all of the wine in the house, I’m afraid.”  
James let out a quiet rumble of a laugh. “Ah, yes, my apologies. Well, the corner shop was still open when I was driving past it. Would you like me to get you anything?”  
Niki only said one word, and that word was, “Whisky.”

                Corner shops were far different in this era, and it never failed to startle James a little when he picked up a packet of cigarettes with a plain box, rather than a picture of grotesquely burnt lungs. Perhaps that was why he’d started smoking so much more. Condoms, which were normally available in abundance in the 2000’s, were nowhere to be seen. The Seventies was the age of the sexual revolution – nobody knew that sex was dangerous, and nobody really knew that you could still get a girl pregnant if you pulled out at the last minute. The Coca-Cola cans were totally different, and contained more E Numbers than anybody in the world could possibly know about, and the chocolate bars could give a weak man diabetes if he took a bite before breakfast. It was the kind of freedom that James simply wasn’t used to, and it had completely changed him. He knew, however subliminally, that he would have the return to the dreary time where the FSA controlled everything, and any kind of pleasurable activity, whether it be drinking or smoking or shagging, was deemed _evil_ by angry housewives who almost always lived in Surrey and made it their life’s ambition to spoil everyone’s fun. Therefore, because of this, James overindulged. He knew that, but because of the temporary nature of his stay, he didn’t care. Steve, the marvellous shop owner who came from Yorkshire and always had some variety of Leeds match on the miniscule television behind the counter, waved politely at James as he puffed on his cigarette. _That was different, too,_ James remembered. _Can’t smoke indoors anymore._    
“ _Ey-up,_ James!”  
“Hi, Steve. How we doing?” He pointed an arm towards the television set, and Steve beamed.  
“On top of the world, as always! Revie for Prime Minister, I say!”  
James permitted himself a small smile. Don Revie would be gone by the end of the decade, and Leeds United weren’t even in the Premier League anymore in his time. He left Steve to his sport and meandered towards the drinks aisle, pondering at which whisky was relatively cheap and tasty, yet still strong enough to get himself and Niki suitably drunk. In the end, he picked up a large bottle of Bell’s. The stuff tasted like drain cleaner, but at least it was cheap. On a whim, he picked up a bottle of coke to go with it. He knew fine well that the whole ‘whisky and coke’ combination hadn’t exactly taken off yet, but it was a risk he was willing to take. He popped the two drinks down on the counter, and pulled a 20 out of his pocket. While Steve was putting the coke into a bag, he said, “Not getting your morning fix, then?”  
It was purely idle conversation, but it got James’ attention. “My morning fix?”  
“Yeah. Your extra strength Tylenol. You nearly always get it when you come in to get a drink. We shopkeepers know these things,” He said, tapping the side of his head knowingly.  
For a split second, James laughed. Then, he remembered something. “My Tylenol,” He repeated dumbly. _In 1972, after a catastrophic season with March..._ “I have plenty. Like, two boxes of eight.” _Deeply in debt..._  
“Christ,” Steve exclaimed, “That’s enough to kill you twice! You must get terrible headaches.” _Deeply in debt...  
_ “I left them on the coffee table,” James said, mostly to himself, as his panicked inner monologue rambled on, _Deeply in debt, Lauda briefly contemplated suicide._ “Oh, my god. Niki.” He forsook the drink, and bolted for the door.

                By the time he was back at the flat, Niki had already moved on to the second packet.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James attempts to deal with Niki's fragile mental state, while simultaneously forcing himself not to divulge too much information regarding Niki's future as a Formula 1 driver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI HELLO I STRONGLY RECOMMEND THAT YOU LISTEN TO BRIDGE OVER TROUBLED WATER BY SIMON AND GARFUNKEL BEFORE OR AFTER YOU READ THIS CHAPTER. ALSO THANK YOU TO THEFLIRTMEISTER FOR HELPING ME FIX MY CRAPPY FORMATTING. HOPEFULLY IT WILL BE LESS CRAPPY NOW. THANK YOU FRIENDS THAT IS ALL

**_ Chapter 4 _ **

            James crossed the room in seconds, snatching the packet of Tylenol from Niki’s grasp and throwing it across the room. He grabbed Niki’s shoulders and pulled him up, shaking him roughly as he yelled, “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing? Christ, Niki!”

“What does it look like I’m doing, Hunt?” Niki retorted, his speech alarmingly slow.

This only made James shake him harder. “How are you feeling?” He asked frantically, “Niki, you’ve taken enough of that stuff to give you liver failure – _how are you feeling?_ ”

Niki balked slightly. “A little sick,” He confessed.

“Sick is good,” James said, trying to lead Niki into the bathroom, “We need to get this stuff out of you and then get you to a hospital.”

“No,” Niki moaned as James opened the door to the bathroom, “No hospital.”

“You’re joking. Niki, you could die.”

“That’s fine.” He said it so monotonously, so calmly, that James almost dropped him from the shock. Carefully, he set Niki down so that he was perched on the edge of the bathtub. Unsure of where to put his hands, he placed them on Niki’s knees, to try and prevent him from falling if he lost his balance.

“There’s nothing fine about that. Listen to yourself!”

“I can hear myself perfectly well, thank you. You’re fine with your situation – you got lucky, James. You have Alexander Hesketh and his team of clever posh boys. I have a completely useless team who won’t even let me modify my car, and £30,000 worth of debt which I can never pay off. I’m hardly going to attract the attention of Enzo Ferrari or Colin Chapman by driving for _March,_ am I?”

James smiled at his feet. He would beg to differ. When Niki began to sway from side to side, James’ head snapped up, and he was instantly on his feet. When he tried to put his hands on Niki’s arms in order to help him up, Niki violently shoved him aside, and rushed towards the toilet, where he promptly began to retch, emptying the contents of his stomach. James placed his hand on Niki’s back, rubbing it in what he hoped would be a soothing way. Tentatively, he moved his other hand to rest on the back of Niki’s head, gently grasping at the curls – which were _soft, so soft_ – that grew there. “Alright, Niks. You’re alright.”

Niki’s head snapped up to meet James’ own. “Do not _baby_ me, Hunt!” His eyes, normally so calm and calculating, were wild with fury, and staring at James with such ferocity and intensity that James began to feel a strange mix of fear and desire. Thankfully, the tension was short lived, as Niki’s outburst had exerted him so much that he collapsed, his face smacking James in the chest as his body fell limp. For a moment, James was unable to do anything other than hold Niki’s body close to him, rocking him back and forth. He wasn’t sure if that was for Niki’s comfort or his own.

“I had no idea that you were going through all of this... No idea, Niks,” He said, more to himself than to the unhearing Niki.  

            After wrapping the throw from the living room sofa around Niki’s shoulders and fastening him into the passenger side of his Mini, James set off for the nearest A&E. It didn’t take him long to arrive – cars were scarce at this time of night, and he didn’t exactly care much for the speed limit – and it took even less time for Niki to be rushed into the nearest ward with a free bed. Frankly, after his experiences with the NHS in the present, James viewed this as a miracle.

            “It appears that he’s actually thrown up most of the harmful stuff,” The doctor said after he returned with results of Niki’s blood tests, “But we’re still going to give him a few pills to reverse the effects when he wakes up. By the looks of things, the collapse was due to exertion more than poisoning. He’s lucky you were there.”

James’ jaw set. Niki had hardly been lucky – he remembered reading that Niki _contemplated_ suicide, not that he’d _attempted_ it because his housemate was stupid enough to leave him alone with two boxes full of Tylenol. He remained by Niki’s side until he finally awoke, his eyes slowly opening as if they were encumbered by a great weight. James watched as Niki turned his gaze over the room, trying to assess his surroundings, until his eyes found James and stopped dead.

“James? What happened? I remember...”

“Telling me not to baby you, and then promptly passing the fuck out in my arms?”

Niki turned an odd shade of pink. “Oh, good grief. So you brought me here?”

“Of course I did. I thought you were dying or something – I stuck you in the car and brought you here.”

“Fabulous. I hate hospitals. What’s the damage, then?”

James raised his eyebrows. “Be serious, Niks. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Right. Sorry, sorry. Seriously, though. Do I have jaundice now?”

“Nope. Still as pale and pasty as ever.”

“Hurrah. The women shall be pleased.” The smile on Niki’s face was entirely false. The guilt in his eyes was so severe that James thought he was about to cry. “I’m sorry, James,” He said, in a tiny and weak voice. “I shouldn’t have done that, it wasn’t fair on you. I’ve been, without a better word, depressed lately. I have no idea how to move forward from here.”

“Niki, don’t apologise. As for moving forward... keep going like you are now. Keep driving. Something will turn up.” He wished he could say more. He wished that he could simply say, ‘ _Enzo Ferrari will discover you in two years from now.’_ But it wasn’t that simple.

“How can you say that something will simply turn up? I’m afraid. I came into this with the ambition of becoming World Champion. And now I can’t even achieve a podium position.”

James’ shoulders slumped. He’d always thought that Niki’s pride was a constant thing, that he was always completely sure of himself. But it wasn’t the case – Niki Lauda was just as much of a human being as he was, and that fact startled him. It also had the drawback of making him feel so much tenderness, and such an intense need to _protect_ Niki that he felt like his entire chest had just been filled with hot air. In an impulsive gesture fuelled by this new desire, James reached out and placed the palm of his hand over Niki’s, squeezing tightly for a moment before pulling away again. “Niks, you remember Formula 3, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“When me and you were almost always a solid minute ahead of the others?” He exchanged a nostalgic smile with Niki. “No one pushes me like you do. You are the best driver in the field, by a long way. You’ll be world champion, but not in a March. Wait, and be patient. I promise you it’ll pay off.” Realising he may have said too much, James promptly changed the subject, “I know you’re too proud to let me help you to pay off your debt, but let me give you a hand. I can afford the rent by myself, you know. I’ll even let you lend my record player.”

“Oh, thanks a lot,” Niki’s tone was sarcastic, but his smile was completely genuine. “Thank you for this, James. Really. I’ll repay you.”

“You’d better. Preferably with well seasoned Italian girls.”

“I’ll make sure to get into Ferrari. I’m sure Enzo has plenty to spare.”

            Niki was due back home from the hospital in two hours, and James was bustling around the flat trying to clean up after himself. He had to admit, he was a bit of a slob when he wanted to be. He picked up beer can after beer can, a large amount of empty wine bottles, even a pair of women’s underwear ( _“Oooh, I didn’t realise these were still here! I wonder whose they were...The one from last night definitely had cherries on her knickers, and the one from the night before wasn’t wearing any at all!”),_ all in anticipation of Niki’s return. He had to admit, he was making a bit of an effort, but he didn’t care. He knew how much of a neat freak Niki was, and how happy a tidy house would make him. When he was finished, he pulled out his additional surprises – one was a note, which read, ‘Louis Stanley, chairman of BRM. Has no money. Needs a driver.’ Below the scribble, was the phone number of Stanley, who had recently lunched with Alexander and explained his predicament regarding his lack of money, and a lack of a secondary driver. The second surprise was a record, which James had placed conveniently on top of the record player, which had also been conveniently placed on the coffee table. He’d attached a note to that too, which said, ‘I have hidden _The Sound of Silence_ where you will never find it again,’ In a stroke of genius, he had hidden it in his condom drawer, ‘Listen to this instead.’

            When Niki came home that night, he found the flat empty. Guessing that James had gone out, he dumped his jacket on the sofa and sat down with relief. He truly _hated_ hospitals, and was glad to be home. After a few minutes, he noticed the notes on top of the record player. He picked up the one detailing Louis Stanley’s contact details first, and his eyes widened in ecstatic surprise. Clutching it in his hand with glee, he moved onto the next note, which was on top of a _Simon and Garfunkel_ record. “I have hidden _The Sound of Silence_ where you will never find it again,” He read aloud, laughing, “The condom drawer, my dear. You hide everything in the condom drawer because you think that I never have need of it. Speaking of which, I really ought to look for Mariella’s underwear before James finds it.” He chucked the note onto the table, and picked up the record. When he realised that it was _Bridge Over Troubled Water_ that he was holding _,_ Niki actually let himself cry.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James discovers for the first time how it feels to watch a great driver die without being able to stop it, and unwittingly gives Niki advice that will alter their relationship entirely.

**_ Chapter 5 _ **

                By 1973, Niki’s condition was far more stable. His position at BRM meant that he was not only part of a respected Formula 1 team, but it also meant that he was close to veteran driver Clay Regazzoni, who was rumoured to be returning to Ferrari after only one season away with another drive. Niki hoped that perhaps, if Clay put in a good word, he would be permitted to follow. From what James had observed, Niki and Clay’s relationship was more parental than brotherly, Clay guiding Niki whenever he could, and Niki always attentively listening to his advice. However, Clay’s attitude towards James himself bothered him; whenever James was hanging around Niki’s pits, as he tended to do, Clay was always _around,_ eyeing James suspiciously, as if he knew something that Niki didn’t. This didn’t stop him, however. Watching Niki prepare for a race was simply too fascinating to give up on for the sake of a few dirty glances.

                Racing at Watkins Glen that year was something that James had been dreading for months, and the fact that the Tyrell garage was bustling with joy on the morning of practice only made him feel worse. Francois Cevert, the ingenious protégé of three-time world champion Jackie Stewart, was so excited that he could barely sit still. Francois had already made himself infamous, for his boyish charm, enviable youthful good looks, and incredible driving skills. Everyone; driver, mechanic, and spectator alike, was anxiously awaiting Stewart’s retirement, so that they could watch Cevert flourish as Tyrell’s number one. However, fate was about to intervene in the cruellest way possible, and James was the only person who knew about it. Even worse was the fact that he was the only one who was completely unable to stop it from happening. When Jackie plopped down next to James as he was having a cigarette, he found himself unable to even look up.

“You got a Hangover, Hunt?” Jackie asked, in such a chipper voice that it made James feel even more ominous than before.

“Probably. I have no idea.”

“Ha! Then I should probably take my sunny disposition elsewhere!”

“And why is your disposition so _sunny,_ dear boy?” James played along with the charade, flicking ash onto the ground. His head was so low that he could probably lick his knee if he tried hard enough.

Jackie leaned close, and faked a whisper, “It’s my last day as a driver today!”

James waited until Jackie had left before muttering, “I know.”

                James was in the middle of watching Niki checking his engine at when they both heard a bang that was loud enough to make Niki drop the spanner he was holding. Niki looked shocked, but James already knew what was coming, and exited the garage and headed towards the track. He briefly turned around to check that Niki was following, and began a brisk walk to the Esses corner. There they found most of the Tyrell team, all previous joy completely vanished, with only the drivers Stewart and Cevert missing, standing around the remains of an upturned car. The top half of the crash barrier had been completely uprooted by the collision, and lay bent and broken on the road next to the car, which was lying on top of the bottom part of the barrier, surrounded by a cloud of smoke and dust.

“Oh, Christ,” Niki’s voice sliced through the still air, “You don’t think it was Stewart, do you? He told me this was going to be his last race...”

“No,” James said solemnly, beginning to walk forward again, “It’s Cevert.”

Niki had to trot a little to catch up. “Cevert? But the man’s a genius! This doesn’t look like the kind of crash a genius would have.” They had reached the car now, and were both thankful that they could not see into the cockpit. Without warning, a reporter cornered Niki and began firing questions at him regarding the crash. “I don’t really know,” Niki said defencelessly, and not in answer to any particular question, “I just got here.”

“What do you reckon caused the crash?” The reporter continued, relentless.

“Driver error. Definitely driver error.”

“Isn’t that a little callous, Mr. Lauda? A man has just died.”

“Hang on a minute there, old boy,” James jumped in, irritated, “You asked Niki what he thought caused the crash, how can you have a go at him for being honest with you?”

“Well, he could be a bit more respectful!”

“Says the man who is brandishing a microphone at me while I am standing in front of the dead body of one of my fellow sportsmen?” Niki retorted angrily. James knew very well that Niki had absolutely no patience for the press, and that he made no secret about it.

“I beg your pardon, Niki, but that’s my job.”

“And it’s my job to be a racing driver. Therefore I know when a crash is due to a fault in the car, or a fault in the driver. You came a little late to hear me saying to James here that I am surprised that Francois was involved in such a crash when he was such a fantastic driver, but that’s the way it is. Sometimes the best drivers make mistakes. Sometimes we are lucky, and sometimes we get killed. That is the truth of motor racing. Perhaps, if you cannot handle that truth, you should report on something more placid, like cricket or crocheting.” Without another word, and looking completely furious, Niki stormed away.

“He’s a serious fellow, isn’t he?” The reporter chuckled, in an attempt to appeal to James’ more easy-going persona. However, when Niki was involved, James found it very hard to be anything but serious.

“We’re in a very serious sport, dear boy. Listen, do refrain from taking any photographs, won’t you? Else you’ll have a Glaswegian to answer to, and no one wants that.”

                Oddly, he found Niki in the Hesketh garage, puffing on a cigarette. He was sat on top of a bench, cross-legged, and had taken his shoes off. Through his socks, James could see that he was wiggling his feet. This habit was something which James did not know anything about, which only made it twice as endearing.

“Don’t you have your own garage to go to?”

“Clay is everywhere.”

“Don’t remind me. He’s probably hiding behind a tire wall right now, spying on us to make sure that I don’t murder you when your back is turned.”

“Oh, he does not think you plan to murder me. He simply thinks you are in love with me.”

James scoffed nervously, and was unable to respond for a moment. _He says that like it’s entirely insignificant._ “Remember, my dear, I have only ever loved budgerigars. And while you are a very lovely rat, you are simply not my kind of creature.”

“Rat. Thanks a lot.”

“It’s a good kind of rat.”

Niki looked upwards from staring at his feet. “Is there a good kind of rat?”

“Yes. He’s currently sitting on my workbench smoking one of my cigarettes. Perhaps one of these days I will train him well enough that he will learn to buy his own.”

Niki flashed a pleased smile, the authenticity of which James was unsure of. “Why thanks. I didn’t mean to leave you with that moron, by the way.”

“You just needed one of my cigarettes?”

“Yes, actually.” Niki’s expression changed then, to one of muffled grief. “Watching them die never gets any easier. Is there any way to make it easier?” When James looked into Niki’s eyes again, he could have sworn he saw fear swimming around in them.

“There’s one way,” James said, “Don’t make friends with any of them.”

Niki took a deep breath, and nodded, sucking his lips towards his teeth. He almost looked torn, for a split second. Then, he hopped off the workbench, put his shoes back on, and left James alone in the garage without another word.


End file.
